


Black Tie Galas and Accidental Escorts

by EllieSaxon



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, He's just a shameless flirt, Insecure Sherlock, Johnlock - Freeform, Johnlock Fluff, M/M, Med Student John, Mild Language, Mycroft/Anthea if you squint, Unilock, Waiter John, flirty john
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-08
Updated: 2015-07-08
Packaged: 2018-04-08 06:42:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4294611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EllieSaxon/pseuds/EllieSaxon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Due to family obligations, Sherlock is stuck attending a charity gala. When faced with the prospect of spending the evening trapped in the company of a woman he'd rather not, Sherlock must come up with a way out. Enter John Watson, medical student and temporary waiter.</p><p> </p><p>Essentially, Sherlock recruits John to pretend to know him, to get out of a conversation with one of his father's friends.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Black Tie Galas and Accidental Escorts

**Author's Note:**

> This was only supposed to be about 5k long, but more and more ideas popped in my head, so I ran with it. Oh wells, the world could always use more Johnlock fluff.
> 
> Not beta'd, not brit-picked. All spelling/grammar/non-British errors, are my own. Apologies.

He was going to make sure his brother paid for this, Sherlock thought as he tugged on the bow tie currently chocking him. It was Mycroft’s fault he was at this ridiculous gala in the first place.

Sherlock sneered, thinking back to the previous evening.

 

 _"I don’t understand why I have to be there. All it is a bunch of morons with more money than sense, patting themselves on the back for being_ so _generous and caring.” Sherlock whined, sounding more like a six year old told to stop playing and come inside, than the nineteen years old he was._

_"You have to go, because our family should have a presence at the event. Mummy and Father are still in France, and I have more pressing matters to which I must attend. That leaves you, you are a Holmes, and you know how much this charity means to Mummy.” Mycroft’s tone left no room for argument._

_"Why don’t you just send Anthea? She’s practically a Holmes already, and she’s always so willing to do whatever you ask.” Sherlock smirked, taunting his older brother._

_"_ _I haven’t the faintest idea to what you are referring.” Mycroft said dismissively, despite the faint blush coloring his cheeks. “Now I want you to start acting like an adult, and do your duty. You will go to the gala, you will wear a tie, and you will not cause trouble. Do I make myself clear?” He finished, once again leaving no doubt of his seriousness._

_“Fine.” Sherlock huffed. “But you owe me.”_

_“Why brother dear, I’d think making Mummy happy is a reward in and of itself.”_

 

An evening surrounded by, and socializing with, London’s most self-important idiots, was torture. He didn’t care how noble support services for cancer patients was, he almost didn’t care it meant making his mother happy, Sherlock was in hell, and Mycroft most definitely owed him a favor. At least the string quartet plays wasn’t the _worst_ he had heard, despite the viola player being slightly off, most likely due to her having to use a borrowed bow.

He just had to survive until the formal dinner started, and everyone would be paying attention to the guest speakers. Snatching a flute of champagne from a passing tray, Sherlock scanned the room in hopes of finding a somewhere to hide and wait out the reception. Unfortunately, luck was not on Sherlock’s side, the room offered nothing. What formal ballroom worth anything didn’t have at least one secluded alcove? Weren’t there supposed to be places for clandestine meetings between secret lovers? Useless, the entire place was useless, Sherlock cursed. He would just have to constantly stay on the move, appear he had a destination in mind. Maybe that would keep all the _people_ at bay.

Sherlock actually managed to avoid the other patrons for a good twenty minute when he sensed he was being watched, and he spotted her out of the corner of his eye. Perhaps one hundred feet away, stood a woman in her late fifties, her hair more gray than ash brown, and impeccably dressed in a floor length burgundy dress. Instead of paying attention to the conversation taking place around her, she was looking at Sherlock as if trying to place him. Sherlock knew exactly who she was, though maybe not her name, and he had to think fast if he was to avoid being trapped by her for the remainder of the evening.

Scanning the room again, Sherlock formulated a plan, he just needed one more element for it to work. There, nervously standing by the display boards, empty tray under his arm, looking a bit lost in his ill fitted suit, was a blond man, roughly two or three years older than Sherlock. He would do perfectly.

 

*******

 

John had never been this uncomfortable in his life, and that included the time in secondary school when he walked in on the rugby coach getting _personal_ with the dance instructor. At least then he was able to back away and no one was any wiser. At this precise moment, there was no escape. John was stuck in a borrowed suit, the cuffs of his shirt rolled up two or three times just so he could used his hands, forced to wind his way through London’s top percent, providing them with hors d’oeuvres while remaining invisible.

John would rather be almost anywhere else, but he needed the money, God did he need the money.  Being a medical student was not a lucrative business to be in, and what little money he did make from the hospital went straight to rent, or back home to help out his parents. Which is why when his mate’s girlfriend, Andie, told him they were short staffed, and could get him a job waiting for some charity gala, John jumped at the chance. It was probably just a onetime thing, Andie reminded him, one of the waiters was out with the flu, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. The pay was horrible too, John being a fill-in after all, but again, John was never one to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Having emptied his tray, John decided to take a small thirty second breather before heading back to the kitchen to refill, and go back in to the bejeweled, designer clad fray. He was just reading one of the posters on display, when he felt a hand grab his wrist and pull him towards a nearby wall.

“I need your help” said a young man, his posh suit fitting his tall, lean body perfectly. His attire, in complete contrast with the wild, unkempt, mop of black curls atop his head, his ice-blue eyes pleading with John.

With a shake, John came back to moment. “What can I get you… sir?” He asked.

“Lose the tray, bow tie, and apron. Button your jacket, and open the top two buttons of your shirt.” The strange man commanded, his hands already undoing John’s tie.

“What? Hey! Wait. Stop!” John yelped, trying to bat the stranger’s hands away, his empty tray having fallen to the floor. “What are you doing!? Who are you?”

“See that woman over there?” the man said, nodding over his shoulder to a middle-aged woman not too far away. “She works with my father, and if given the opportunity, she will trap me in a one sided ‘conversation’ all night. I cannot have that, the more she drinks, the less subtle she becomes in her efforts to pair me with her daughter. That is not a good idea… for everyone involved.” He added almost as an afterthought.

“That’s nice. I don’t see what this has to do with me.” John said, stepping back.

“You have to get me away from her.” The mad man huffed, rolling his eyes. “In ten minutes, I need you to walk over and pretend we know each other. I can take it from there. But I can’t do it with you looking like a waiter”

“Alright, other than the fact that I still don’t know your name, I’ll get caught! I’ll definitely get fired for doing this!” John hissed under his breath, though in the back of his head, a treacherous part of his brain liked the idea.

“Why does it matter? You’re just filling in for the night.”

Taken back as to how this stranger knew that, John refocused. “But I won’t get paid.”

“I’ll pay you double what they’re paying you…. Please?”

“Double my pay?” The man nodded “Fine.” John sighed, feeling a bit excited.

“Excellent. Ten minutes, and just follow my lead.” The man started to leave, before turning back and adding, “Oh, and the name’s Sherlock, by the way. Sherlock Holmes.”

“Nice to meet you Sherlock Holmes. I’m John Watson.”

“I know.” The man, Sherlock, said smiling at John’s look of shock. “Name tag.” He added, nodding to the badge on John’s lapel.

“Oh, right.” Laughed John.

“Ten minutes.” And with that, Sherlock headed back into the crowed, leaving John a little flustered, cheeks slightly warm.

 

********

 

Sherlock hadn’t been back amongst the other patrons more than three minutes, when he heard it.

“Billy? I thought that was you!”

“Oh… hello.” Sherlock hoped she would take a hint that he didn’t want to socialize.

“Oh no you don’t, Billy Holmes, don’t you pretend you don’t know who I am.” Sherlock remained silent. “Cynthia Michaels…. I’ve worked with your father for 15 years, and you still don’t know my name.” She laughed, clearly familiar with Holmesian behavior .

“Ah, yes. Sorry about that.” Apologized Sherlock, a fake smile plastered on his face.

“All is forgiven, Billy.” Clearly Cynthia had already had two or three drinks this evening, by Sherlock’s estimation. Fantastic, just what he needed, a matchmaker on her way to inebriation.

“Actually, I go by Sherlock.”

“Of course you do.”

The silence stretched, and Sherlock began to get his hopes up that the interaction had ended, and the waiter ruse wasn’t need. Pity, Sherlock was a bit curious how it would go, if this John could pull it off.

“Are your parents here? I didn’t think they were back yet?” Apparently Cynthia wasn’t ready to let Sherlock go just yet.

“No, no, they’re still in Paris. Mummy… my mother, is doing a series of lectures at Paris-Sud. It’s just me tonight.”  Sherlock checked his watch, still four minutes until John was set to interrupt. He gave a silent plea for John to play along and be convincing.

“All by yourself? No date?”

Gritting his teeth, Sherlock had to fight the urge to storm away. Not wanting to cause trouble for his father, Sherlock stayed his sharp tongue. “No date.” He answered as civilly as he was capable.

“No special lady? Such a shame, handsome young man like you. How old are you now? Twenty?” Cynthia grinned, obviously wasting no time.

“Nineteen, and I’m not really looking for a  _special lady_ . I’d rather focus on other things at the moment.” One more word about dating, and Sherlock was going to snap. Fortunately he saw John approaching, right on schedule.

 

*******

 

He couldn’t believe he’d actually agreed to do this. John was really going to risk his, granted temporary, job, all to play pretend with a stranger he’d just met? Admittedly, Sherlock was a very interesting stranger, but still, this was insane, John was insane. Though John had to admit, it sure beat the hell out of wandering around, balancing a tray of spinach puffs. Oh he was definitely insane. 

Taking a deep breath, and doing a cursory glance to make sure none of his fellow wait staff were around,  John headed over to where Sherlock and his ‘captor’ were standing.

_Here goes nothing_ . “Sherlock! I was hoping you’d actually show up!” John said, clapping Sherlock on the shoulder. He had to sell that they knew each other, after all.

“John, hi!” Sherlock turned, beaming at John. “Did you actually manage to get Dr. Evans to give you her ticket? I thought you were joking!” His eyes practically begging ‘please play along’, not that John noticed his eyes.

“Well she couldn’t make it anyway and she said a little culture would do me some good. I don’t think I understood the term ‘swank’ until I walked in here.” John laughed, smiling up at Sherlock. The faint smile on Sherlock’s face suggesting he was impressed by John’s improvisational skills. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt your conversation. I just thought I’d say hey.” John said, turning away from Sherlock towards the woman.

“Oh sorry, I’m being rude.” The smile on Sherlock’s face shifted to something far more fake, as he addressed the woman. “John, this is Mrs. Cynthia Michaels, she works with my father. Mrs. Michaels, this is my friend John Watson.”

“Lovely to meet you.” Cynthia greeted John with a nod.

“You too.”

“Your friend?”Cynthia’s tone sounding skeptical, as she eyed John. “How do you know each other?”

Before John could panic, Sherlock spoke up. “John trains at Bart’s, emergency surgery, and he doesn’t turn me in when he catches me using one of the pathology labs without permission.”

John’s panic turned to shock as to how Sherlock could possible know he was training to be a surgeon at Bart’s. Fortunately he recovered quickly. “Don’t sell me short, man. I’ve actively covered for you too. At great personal risk, I might add.” He was really getting into this.

“Maybe once or twice.” Sherlock rolled his eyes, though he was clearly pleased John was playing his part so well, if the smile and pinkening of the cheeks were anything to go by.

“You look a bit young to be a doctor.” Cynthia said, her skepticism ever present.

“Well I’m not one yet, but I’m on track to be.” John replied, trying not to take offense. What about him screamed ‘couldn’t be a doctor’?

“I would think that’s what the term ‘training’ is meant to imply” The annoyance evident in Sherlock’s voice. He wasn’t sure why, but John liked that Sherlock was quick to side with him. Though perhaps that had less to do with John, and more to do with driving Cynthia away.

“No need for that kind of tone, young man. I’m sure your parents would be appalled!”  Cynthia admonished Sherlock, yet it lacked any real disapproval.

“Apologies.” Sherlock said, dipping his head slightly.

“Accepted. I’ll just be off, I’m sure you’d rather talk with someone your own age, and not some middle-aged old lady. It was wonderful to see you, and may I tell my Abigail you say hello?”

“I have a feeling you’d do so no matter what my answer, so by all means.”And even John, who had only met him fifteen minutes previously, could tell that Sherlock’s composure was hanging by a thread. Clearly this was not the first time Cynthia had tried to foster communication between Sherlock and her daughter.

"Splendid!” Cynthia positively squealed, Sherlock’s lack of interested not apparent to her. “And it was a pleasure to meet you, John, good luck with your studies.”

“Thank you. It was nice meeting you.” John smiled, relieved to be free to drop the act, and be left alone with Sherlock.

 

*******

 

Sherlock let out a sigh of relief, John performed far better than expected, his camaraderie felt almost genuine. For some reason, Sherlock rather liked the feeling. “Excellent work, John. You were quite convincing.”

“Did Mike and Andie put you up to this?” John asked, chuckling, and ignoring Sherlock’s compliment. Rude really, as Sherlock rarely complimented anyone.

“Up to what?”

“The whole ‘I need your help driving off my dad’s friend’ thing. Is Mike or Andie pranking me?” John clarified, still laughing.

“As I know neither a Mike nor an Andie, the answer is no. And I really did need your help driving off my father’s colleague. And as I said before, you did so wonderfully.” Why Sherlock kept complimenting John, he had no idea, but for some reason he felt the need to appease this short, seemingly ordinary man.

“Well then how did you know I’m doing my medical training at Bart’s? And that I’ve got my eye on trauma surgery?”

“I didn’t know, I noticed.” John raised his eyebrows, indicating for Sherlock to continue. “I saw you were reading some of the posters on display, as you circulated around the room, and when you took a rest. They were not causal glances, but you seemed to show genuine interest, so you have some medical or research training. The dexterity exercises you were doing when I approached you, suggested surgery. You agreed to the ridiculous idea to help out a complete stranger, with very little persuasion, so you’re a risk taker who makes quick decisions. All together, that spells medical student training to be a trauma and emergency surgeon.”

John just gaped at him. “And studying at Bart’s?”

“A guess. Bart’s is one of the three medical centers sponsoring this event and has a rather good surgical program. Plus I do use their laboratories without permission, so there was a grain of truth on my end of the story.”

“Amazing. Absolutely brilliant!” John said when he seemed to finally regain his words, his deep blue eyes shining with genuine admiration.

Sherlock felt an immediate flutter in his chest at John’s praise. No one ever appreciated his deducations, save for his father. “Really? You think so?”

“You figured out I’m training to be a surgeon based on me reading some posters, and rolling a coin through my fingers. What else would it be?”

“It’s just that’s not what people usually say.” Sherlock answered, his disbelief still etched on his face.

“Oh, and what do that say?”

“Piss Off.” Sherlock replied, grinning at John. And after a brief pause, both devolved into a laughing fit.

“Well I think it’s fantastic! A bit intrusive, yeah, but fantastic!” John said, shaking his head. Grinning back up at Sherlock, a faint blush colored his cheeks, and Sherlock could only assume he too was sporting some color on his face.

“I, ah, I should probably be heading back now.” John said, finally looking away as the chuckles subsided.

“What? What do you mean ‘back’? Back where?” Sherlock didn’t get it, why did John want to leave? They seemed to be getting along, John even liked his deductions. Sherlock didn’t understand, and he didn’t understand why he seemed to care.

“I need to get back to work.” John explained. “We can’t let the masses go without their mini quiches, now can we.” He added with a laugh.

“But you have to stay. What if she comes back? We need to keep up the act!” John can’t go yet, no one called him amazing before and meant it. Sherlock needed time to figure John out. “Besides, you’re not such bad company. Far less boring than most.”

“That almost sounded like a compliment.” John chuckled. “Believe it or not, but this little charade was the most fun I’ve had in a while, and I love to stay, but I really shouldn’t. I’m lucky I haven’t been caught and fired already, I don’t want to press my luck.”

“I don’t see why you care. It’s a one time job anyway.”

“Spoken like someone who’s never been in need of money.” John quipped.

Choosing to ignore John’s interruption, Sherlock continued. “And you won’t be caught. Like I said, it’s a one time job, so the rest of the wait staff shouldn’t recognize you, only your friend and the manager have any idea who you are. I’d assume friends wouldn’t turn each other in, and the manager is currently in the in the prep area replacing the two hundred pound bottles of whisky with a cheap alternative. And if you’ll remember, I did promise to compensate you for playing along with my ruse.”

“Okay, I’m going to have to remember to ask you how you  _noticed_ this is a temporary job, later.” Sherlock couldn’t help but feel that familiar flutter at the mention of ‘later’. John was planning to speak to Sherlock at some point in the future, meaning he intended for there to be continued interaction.

“So we’re agreed. You stick close, thereby decreasing the chance of others speaking to or approaching me, and I’ll make sure you get paid should things go pear-shaped.”

“You know Sherlock, this sounds dangerously like you’re asking me to be an escort.” John’s joking tone only partially masking a slight concern.

“No! Absolutely not.” Sherlock was quick to reassure him, not wanting to scare John off. “Think of it more like you’re my personal assistant for the evening.”

“Personal escort, more like.” John muttered under his breath. “Okay fine, I’ll do it. But only because I like you, and this could be interesting. And no kissing on the mouth!”

“What!?” Sherlock sputtered, thrown by John’s suggestion. He didn’t want to kiss John, he thought, unconsciously glancing down at John’s lips.

“Relax Sherlock, it was just a joke. Don’t worry.” John sighed, patting Sherlock on the arm.

“Oh, right. I knew that.” Sherlock could still feel the heat from John’s hand, his heart rate still a beat too fast. “Thank you… for helping me out.” He added.

“Not a problem. But only for the remainder of the reception, Okay? I really wouldn’t feel right sitting at dinner. People actually paid for that.”

“That sounds fair.”

“Great.” John nodded. “Now, tell me how you knew I’m only acting as a waiter for the night?”

Thrilled at the prospect of more praise from John, Sherlock explained how the one size too large uniform (clearly not his), and the fact that he looked a bit lost, wandering amongst the patrons, all told Sherlock John was just a temporary hire. And as before, Sherlock was gifted with more praise and another grin from John, something Sherlock was only too happy to return.

 

********

 

Agreeing to help out Sherlock, turned out better than John could have expected. It was certainly better than how he originally thought his evening was going to go. Wandering around the gala with Sherlock was fantastic, Sherlock deducing his childhood, his bad shoulder, and his life in medical school, John filling in the gaps when rarely needed. Yes he had to avoid the servers, John still wasn’t convinced Sherlock was right about them being unable to recognize him, but hanging around Sherlock was absolutely fantastic.

“Why aren’t you eating?” Sherlock asked when John steered them away from yet another tray of finger food.

“Well you aren’t eating. I could ask you the same question.” John challenged.

“Yes, but I’m going to be having dinner later, and I rarely eat as it is. You, on the other hand, have been eyeing every bit of food and drink within a 10 foot radius. Not to mention I’ve heard your stomach growl no less than five times. So, why aren’t you eating?”

“Alright, we’re just going to ignore that ‘rarely eating’ bit for now. I think you’re forgetting I’m not supposed to be here.”

“Ridiculous, of course you are.” Sherlock said, dismissing John.

“As a server, not a guest. It wouldn’t be right to take food.”

“I’m allowed a plus one.” Sherlock murmured quietly. “Technically you  _can_ be a guest.”

“Sherlock, that’s,” John didn’t know what to say, it almost sounded like Sherlock was asking him to… well, John didn’t want to let himself think what Sherlock might be asking him. John wasn’t that lucky. “Even so, I feel like it’s a bit of a cheat.” He said, a sheepish smile playing across his face.

“Whatever makes you happy. I’m not the one who’s hungry.” Sherlock shrugged.

“Hey, I just realized something.” John said, attempting to break the awkward tension. “You were able to just look at me and know my life story, but I don’t know all that much about you, other than you don’t want to be here.”

“And you want to know more about me?” Sherlock asked, sounding skeptical.

“Of course! So spill.” John grinned, not really understanding why Sherlock would think John  _wouldn’t_ want to get to know him better. Sherlock was amazing, who wouldn’t want to get to know him?

It was then that John noticed the glint in Sherlock’s eyes. “Deduce me.” The taller man said.

“What?”

“You heard me. Take a look at me, think back to what I’ve said, and make some deductions. You’re not a complete idiot, you’re bound to get something correct.”

“Such a charmer.” John mutters under his breath. “Ok, give me a second. I need to take it all in.”

As if to humor him, Sherlock held his arms out, a cocky smile firmly in place, and gave John a little spin.

“Alright, got it.” John said when Sherlock was finally facing him again. “You obviously come from a wealthy family, or at least well connected family. But wealth and connection tend to go hand in hand, so I’ll say both. I’m also going to guess you’re an only child, any sibling worth their salt wouldn’t stand for your bluntness.” Sherlock cocked an eyebrow, John took it as a good sign, and continued. “You’re clearly university age, probably somewhere in London since you said you use the Bart’s labs illegally. Also, using labs would suggest you study some sort of science. But earlier I made a joke about you being a junior detective; you said something like ‘nothing junior about it’ so maybe you’re studying criminology.”

When Sherlock remained silent after John finished his deductions, John felt his stomach drop to his feet. He’d over stepped and had offended Sherlock. He knew he shouldn’t have said that thing about being an only child. He and Sherlock had been having a pretty good evening, and he had completely ruined it.

Finally Sherlock spoke, his tone light. “Not bad. Everything you said was glaringly obvious and rather superficial, but not bad.”

“Seriously?! Well, you may not be impressed, but I’m happy with myself.” John laughed, relieved Sherlock hadn’t stormed off right then.

“I didn’t say I wasn’t impressed, most people wouldn’t even pick up on the obvious and superficial.” Corrected Sherlock. “Though you were completely wrong about the only child thing, I have an older brother. He’s not worth his salt, so any objections he may raise about my bluntness, go ignored.”

“Oh, sorry about that. But everything else was correct?” John asked, eager to get more insight into Sherlock Holmes.

“Yes. My family is rather well off. My father’s work in the government affords him a handful of useful connections. Not to mention the connections due to the notoriety my mother has due to her contributions to the field of quantum mechanics and differential equations.”

“So brains clearly run in the family.” John teased, nudging Sherlock in the side.

“Oh, um. Yes I guess they do.” Sherlock mumbled, a faint pink coloring his cheeks, before collecting himself. “And I’m in my third year at Imperial, reading chemistry. Though I don’t really use the Bart’s lab for my university work. The work I do at Bart’s is more extracurricular.”

“Extracurricular? In what way?”

“You weren’t way off with the detective comment. Though I don’t formally study criminology, I do dabble in crime solving. I’ve even been known to assist Scotland Yard on occasion. I used the Bart’s laboratories when I need to study human tissue that may be vital to a case.”

John just gaped at Sherlock, not able to believe what he had just heard. “You solve crimes too? You are a full time student, solve crimes for fun, and attend charity events in your free time. You’re unreal!”

“It’s not that unreal.” Sherlock muttered, sounding a bit put out.

“No, no. I didn’t mean that as a bad thing.” John reassured him. “No, I think it’s amazing.  Like international man of mystery level fantastic.”

“You’re a very odd man, John Watson. Most people either think I’m lying, or run for the nearest exit when they find out I go to crime scenes for fun.” Sherlock said, staring at John as if he couldn’t believe someone like  _John_ could exist.

“Well I’m not most people. And the way you deduced me, I can tell you’re not lying.” John grinned. “Though I may need a bit more convincing.”

“What kind of convincing do you need?” Sherlock asked, his deep voice dropping slightly, almost seductively, if John didn’t know better.

“Well, I need to know that you deducing my life story wasn’t just a fluke. How do I know it wasn’t just beginners luck?” John smirked. He’d admit it, he was flirting. With Sherlock dressed to the nines, staring at him with those color shifting eyes, his black curls just the right level of messy, and those unbelievably high cheekbones; it was difficult  _not_ to flirt. It was all innocent; John doubted if Sherlock was even aware of it.

“Luck has nothing to do with my deductions.” Sherlock said, sounding almost affronted. “Pick anyone in the room and I’ll tell you anything you want to know. Look at him,” he said, pointing at a well dressed man across the room, “he’s recently married, though he’d rather not be. His new bride sabotaged her birth control when she felt they were drifting apart, and his traditional up bringing compelled him to ‘do the right thing’. You can tell by the way he’s playing with the ring, taking it off and putting it back on. He’s constantly flexing his hand. And each time he was offered congratulations on the new addition, he smiles, but it never reaches his eyes, and it quickly fades. The marriage will only last about two years. At least it should, or else all three people will be miserable.”

“Extraordinary.” John couldn’t help but gush. “But it’s not really fair, now is it?”

The confusion was clear on Sherlock’s face. “Not fair? What’s not fair?”

“You already know these people, you might have already known all that.” John was really enjoying winding Sherlock up.

“I don’t know everybody. I’ve barely met ten of the people here!”

Oh yes, Sherlock was so delightfully flustered. “Yes, but how do I know that?” John couldn’t help but keep teasing him.

“Ok, fine.” Sherlock huffed. “How about your fellow wait staff? I can’t know them.”

“Go for it.”

 

*******

 

Deducing the wait staff (and guests once John was suitably convinced), for John was like Christmas. John not only listened to Sherlock’s deductions, but he actively encouraged them, even trying his hand at it a few more times. Grinning up at Sherlock, his deep blue eyes shining with admiration, John expressed every possible variant of remarkable or amazing, in the English language. Sherlock couldn’t stop himself from beaming back down at John. Just looking at John, with his neat blond hair, defined jaw, and nose that crinkled just so as he laughed, made the now familiar nervous, excited, and intoxicating flutter in Sherlock’s chest, fill his entire being. 

Everything was perfect, Sherlock could have happily forgone the dinner and spent the rest of the evening wandering around with John, deducing London’s high society. But just like most things in Sherlock’s life, just when he started feeling content, something came to turn everything on its head. This time it came in the form of a bald, forty year old caterer grabbing John by the arm.

“What the  _hell_ do you think you’re doing, Watson?” John’s temporary boss hissed, yanking John away mid-sentence.

“Mr. Hallgrimsson! I… I can explain.” John sputtered.

“You’d better! I hired you to  _serve_ the guests, not try to be one. Who do you think you are, eating and drinking what you’re supposed to be offering to the people who paid to be here?” At this point Mr. Hallgrimsson was seething, his face getting redder as he clearly tried to control his voice.

“What happened… See…. Um… I…”

Sherlock couldn’t stand by and let John flounder; he couldn’t let John suffer because of him. “Excuse me sir, if you would be so kind as to unhand my guest, I’d be very much appreciative.” He said as he approached the infuriated man and a panicked John Watson.” 

“Your guest? What are you talking about, kid?” Mr. Hallgrimsson said, thrown by what Sherlock said.

“John, the man you are currently manhandling, is my guest. My plus one. He is here at my invitation.” John remained silent, looking between Sherlock and Hallgrimsson, the look of abject fear still plastered across his face.

“The hell he is! I don’t know what you two are trying to do here, but I won’t stand for it. If you think I’m paying you to stand around a chat with your boyfriend here, you’ve got another thing coming.” Hallgrimsson said, turning back to John. “I want you to pack up your things, and be gone in the next five minutes or I’m calling security!”

“Yes sir, I’m sorry sir.” John sputtered, having found his voice again. And with one quick look at Sherlock, a look of disappointment in his eyes, he headed back to the preparation area and out of Sherlock’s sight.

“And you!”Hallgrimsson said, addressing Sherlock again. “I’m going to have a word with the organizers and find out if you’re even supposed to be here. If I find out you’re a gate crasher and Watson snuck you in, there will be hell to pay.”

“Speak to whomever you wish, you’ll find I’m very much a welcomed guest. Perhaps I’ll have a word with the organizers myself. I’m sure they’ll want to know that they hired someone who, not only sent my guest away, but also accused me of lying and ‘gate crashing’, as you put it.”

“Are you threatening me?”

“I am simply returning the favor.”

Sherlock couldn’t help but smirk as he watched Mr. Hallgrimsson storm away, red faced and angry. But any bit of sick pleasure he may have gotten from further infuriating the man, was quickly over taken by the melancholy he felt seeing John hurry away, his shoulders sagged, and head hung low. Sherlock didn’t want their evening to end so soon, he couldn’t let it end so soon.

 

*******

 

Folding the borrowed suit, John left it a chair in the corner of the room, grabbed his bag, and headed to the door. As much as John regretted losing a paycheck, he really did need every bit of money he could get, it was that he didn’t get the chance to say goodbye to Sherlock, which weighed heaviest on John’s mind. An evening simply walking around a room full of stuffy aristocrats with Sherlock, was the most fun John had had in a long time. He hated that it had been cut short.

He wanted to kick himself, he should have gotten Sherlock’s number when he had the chance. They should have figured out a way for them to get together again, as friends of course.  _Or perhaps more_ , John couldn’t help thinking; he couldn’t be sure, but things  _were_ feeling a bit flirty before Mr. Hallgrimsson interrupted. It was a moot point now, John had to leave, and he wasn’t going to see Sherlock again.

But when he thought about it, Sherlock was a rather uncommon name, and it wouldn’t be all that difficult to find him. How many Sherlock Holmes’ could there be in London? And he did say he frequented Bart’s. But no, he couldn’t do that, could he? No, John wasn’t a creep, stalking a guy he just met. No, he had more control than that, even if he wanted to find Sherlock again more than anything.

With a resigned sigh, John pushed through the door, and stepped out into the alley behind the event hall.

“Four minutes and forty-nine seconds. Cutting it a bit close, aren’t we?” John froze, breath caught in his throat. Standing by the door he’d just walked through, stood Sherlock Holmes, bow tie gone and a long wool coat over his posh suit.

“Sherlock!” John stuttered when he finally found his voice again. “What are you doing here?”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Waiting for you.”  The obviously implied.

“I figured that much out myself, thanks. I meant what are you doing waiting for me? Why aren’t you back inside?”

“It… was boring. I didn’t want to be there in the first place, and I’d already made my appearance. I… I just figured… I was hoping…. I was hoping maybe we could hang out more.” All of Sherlock’s bravado seemed to disappear in an instant, and John couldn’t stop the pang he felt in his chest at the sight. “We don’t have to if you don’t want to. I’ll just go. I’m sorry, forget I said anything.”

“No, No! God no, don’t go!” John blurted, grabbing Sherlock’s elbow to stop his retreat. “I’d love to keep hanging out with you. I was just berating myself for getting kicked out early before getting your number. I mean… so we could… hangout…. more.”  _Smooth move, Watson. That defiantly won’t freak him out._ John mentally kicked himself while giving Sherlock an apologetic smile.

Sherlock immediately brightened. “Oh excellent! Now we don’t have to worry. The night is still young, care for a tour of London?” His cheeks taking on a slight pink color, most likely due to the cool autumn air.

“I live in London, Sherlock. I grew up not that far away. I hardly need a tour of my own city. But I wouldn’t say no to wandering around it a bit.” John laughed, relief flooding his body.

“Ah, but you haven’t seen  _my_ London. Not to worry, it’s not too seedy or dangerous. You just wouldn’t believe the things people miss every day.” Sherlock grinned. The dusky light exaggerating his already striking features, giving him an otherworldly look that John wanted to commit to memory.

“Well by all means, lead the way. I’ve got nothing to do for the rest of the evening.”

 

*******

 

“…So once I saw the scabs and scars on the back of her heels, it was quite simple to deduce she was slipping the drugs in her cousin’s food and drink. Convincing the Yard was another matter, but fortunately one DI had half a brain in her head, and listened to me.” Sherlock recounted yet another case with a flourish.

“Fantastic!” John exclaimed with a marveled laugh, treating Sherlock to yet another of his blush inducing smiles. “All because the back of her shoes rubbed off skin on her heels, you were able to stop a potential murder. You are… that’s really something else!”

“You’re aware you say that out loud?” Sherlock still couldn’t begin to understand how someone as bright, and agreeable as John could praise him like he was. Sherlock knew he was extraordinary, it’s was just that no one seemed to appreciate that fact like John appeared to.

 “Oh, sorry. I’ll just shut up.”

“No, no. It’s fine…. It’s rather nice, for a change.” Sherlock loved John’s praise. John’s praise meant John was impressed. When John was impressed, John smiled at him, and Sherlock found he wanted nothing more than for John to smile at him, eyes shining, a small chuckle escaping every so often. Sure Sherlock felt like his chest was going to explode, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

The conversation soon lapsed into silence as the two continued their seemingly directionless meandering through London. Sherlock couldn’t quite understand it, but he found himself simultaneously missing John’s voice, and basking in the gentle ease of their silence. He didn’t understand it, but for once in his life, Sherlock found he rather liked the confusion.

“Can I ask you something?” John asked, just as Sherlock was about to comment on the checkered history of the mews they had turned down.

Sherlock simply raised his eyebrows, so John continued. “Why were you at the gala tonight?”

“Because I had in invitation. Really John, I’d have thought even you could have figured that much out.” Sherlock smirked.

“Oh ha ha. Very funny smartarse.” John laughed, gently shoving Sherlock. “I just meant it doesn’t really seem like something you’d enjoy. No, scratch that, you explicitly said you didn’t want to be there.”

“And I didn’t want to be there.”

“Which brings me back to my question, why were you there?”

Sherlock let out a sound partway between a sigh and an annoyed groan. “To make my mother happy. Or rather, my brother made me go by using the fact that it would make my mother happy.”

“Huh, I never pegged you as a mama’s boy.” John teased

“Now who’s being an arse?” Sherlock huffed, with no real bite. “The proceeded from tonight go to providing support services for cancer patients and their…. minders.”

“Minders?” John chuckled

“Family, loved ones, whatever.” Sherlock said as he waved his hand dismissively. “The point is, my mother cares deeply for this cause, donating quite a bit of money each year. My own grandmother died of stomach cancer years ago. While we could easily afford all the care and support she required, my mother realized how difficult it must be for those without our funds.” He kept his tone smooth, but Sherlock could feel a little pang thinking of his Nan. “My parents are currently out of town, and my waste of a brother had  _more important things to do_ , so it fell upon me to attend on her behalf and see where her donations are going. It was a small sacrifice to please her, and to possibly get her and my father off my back about certain… wishes.”

“So just to make your mum happy? Nah, you secretly like seeing the good your family is doing.”

“You only say that because you don’t really know me. No one would accuse me of anything remotely altruistic.” Sherlock muttered, feeling a bit flushed. John had known him for barely three hours, and yet he seemed to see good in him.

Sherlock was so wrapped up in his own head, trying to suss out the puzzle that was John Watson, that he almost missed John’s own muttering under his breath, something along the lines of ‘liking a chance’.

With an audible stomach growl, and a shake of the head, as if clearing out stray thoughts, John’s light, conversational tone returned. “I haven’t eaten since lunch today, and I’m absolutely starving. You skipped out before the dinner was served. Want to grab something to eat?”

“I know a shop just up the road, it stays open late and the owner owes me a favor. Their chips are quite good, so I’m sure we can find you something.” Sherlock suggested, relieved for the change of subject, moving away from such unfamiliar territory.

“Oh no. You look like a stiff breeze could knock you down. You’re eating too! Now where is this place? ‘Quite good’ chips sound amazing.” John said, his stomach growling yet again.

Sherlock never took orders from anyone, especially not to eat, and yet he found himself silently agreeing that an order of chips did seem like a good idea. So, for perhaps the first time ever, Sherlock willingly followed someone else’s command, and lead John to one of London’s many underrated culinary gems.

 

*******

 

With his late night meal of fish and chips in hand, John settled on the ground, back against the trunk of a tree, and looked out over a quiet pond. After he and Sherlock got their food, Sherlock had all but dragged him to a nearby park. According to Sherlock, while the food was excellent, the ‘dining area’ left much to be desired. John had to agree, and sitting alone in the park with Sherlock, the moonlight illuminating the water (and his dining companion), the light breeze rustling through the trees, sounded much more appealing than sitting on cracked plastic chairs in the fluorescently lit eatery.

“Here, give me your food.” John reached up, making a grab for Sherlock’s meal.

“What? NO!” Exclaimed Sherlock, stepping back, levering his food away from John. “You already have food. Besides,  _you’re_ the who insisted I eat.”

“No, genius.” John couldn’t stop himself from rolling his eyes. “I’ll hold your food for you , so you can sit down.”

“Oh, yes. Thank you.” Sherlock said, handing John his dinner. Then removing his coat, he laid it on the ground, and settled next to John.

Once he had settled, John could feel the heat radiating off of Sherlock, and seep through his jumper, even though they weren’t touching. It was…. pleasant.

‘ _Get a grip, Watson’_ said a small voice in John’s head, when Sherlock shifted slightly.  _‘You’re just eating some fish and chips with a new mate. A new mate who is brilliant, ridiculous, and impossibly gorgeous. Not to mention a mate you’ve been flirting with all night. A mate who_ might _have even flirted back.’_

“Are you sure this park is still open?” John asked, when he finally returned from his own head. “I haven’t seen anyone else around since we came in.”

“Yes, it’s open twenty-four hours, don’t worry. Also, there was a couple just inside the entrance, though they were obscured behind some shrubbery. I’m not all that surprised that you didn’t see them.”

“I don’t know if that makes me feel better or not.” John laughed before popping a chip into his mouth. “Holy crap, you weren’t kidding, these things are amazing!”

“I did tell you they were good. Really John, you ought to just trust what I say, you’ll find I’m usually right. Saves quite a bit of time.”

“And humble too, arse.” John snickered, once again unable to stop the smile that seemed to have taken up permanent residence on his face.

“What’s the point of false humility, it’s the truth.”

“When it comes to fish and chips, I’ll agree.”

“When it comes to most things.”

The two then tucked into their meals, chatting between bites. At one point John was sure he was going to have to perform the Heimlich, when Sherlock almost aspirated piece of fish upon hearing John’s story about a six year old Harry threatening to sue a birthday clown for psychological damages.

“I can’t fault her.” Sherlock laughed, once he managed to get his breath back. “Coulrophobia is well documented, and is rather common in today’s society.”

“And clowns are just creepy.”

“That too.” Sherlock agreed, setting his empty carton on the grass next to him.

“You know, for someone who ‘wasn’t hungry’, you sure polished off your dinner.” John commented, finishing up the last of his chips.

“I wasn’t hungry. I was merely humoring you.”

“Sure you weren’t.”

“I wasn’t!” John had to bite his lip to keep from grinning. Sherlock was absolutely adorable when he got indignant. His eyes got impossibly wide, while his brow simultaneously furrowed, creating the smallest of creases between them. It took every ounce of will power for John not to push away the loose black curl that had fallen across Sherlock’s forehead.

“Alright, alright. I believe you. You were just humoring me.” John conceded, lifting his hands in defeat. “You’re utterly ridiculous, you know that right?”

“ _I’m_ ridiculous?!” There is was again, that adorable indignation. “I believe you’re the one who abandoned his job to hobnob with London’s finest.”

“Only because you asked me to!”

“I was a total stranger, and yet you still did it. My point still stands” Sherlock said, looking sufficiently smug.

“Yes, yes. You’re right. You’re right.” John sighed with a faded laugh. “Why did you, by the way?”

“Why did I what?”

“Why did you really want to hang around with me all evening?” John asked. Sherlock was brilliant, extraordinary, he could capture and retain the attention of anyone in London. So why did he want to spend time with everyday, ordinary John? John had to know. “And don’t say it’s because you wanted to avoid the other guests.”

“But I did.” Sherlock’s indignation giving way to confusion. Still utterly captivating. “I needed an excuse to get away from that banal woman, to look busy. And it worked like a charm, she left us alone.”

“Well I’m sure a genius like you could have easily found some other way to get out of talking to her. But even so, what about the rest of the evening? I doubt you’d have any trouble avoiding conversations you don’t want. Not to mention you slipped out early to wander around London and eat chips with me.” John said before quickly adding, “Not that I’m complaining, but obviously you’re not trying to fool anyone into thinking you’re busy now.”

“Fine.” Sherlock said with a resigned sigh. “I liked your company. I like your company. You’re intelligent, quick on your feet, and you’re reasonably funny. I don’t know, I just kind of liked it. I had to be there, and passing the time with someone who was nice to me, and not simply because of who my parents are, was…. nice. And you actually seemed to like my deductions.”

“Of course I liked your deductions, they’re brilliant!”

“Very few people do. My parents humor me, and DI Lestrade puts up with them because they help solve her cases.”

“Well people are idiots. Your deducations are fantastic, you’re fantastic.” John did not mean to say that last part. While it was certainly true, John feared this was starting to edge out of  ‘harmless flirting’ territory.

Sherlock remained quiet for a moment, looking down at the grass between them, his cheeks tinged pink. “So… um… Why did you agree to help me?” He stumbled when he found his voice again.

“Because I thought you were brilliant.” Well, in for a penny, in for a pound. “I was uncomfortable and completely out of my element, and then you suddenly appeared with this little game of subterfuge. How could I resists? And then we got to actually talking, and yeah, I thought you were interesting. What you could do was extraordinary, it was all just… brilliant.”

Once again everything became silent; the only sound was of the crickets chirping unseen around them. John could feel his heart thumping in his chest, petrified he’d royally mucked things up.

“Do you really mean that?” Sherlock asked almost shyly before settling his hand over John’s. “Oh, um… sorry” quickly pulling away.

“No, it’s fine. I… uh… I don’t mind.” John looked straight into Sherlock’s color shifting eyes, now a sort of green color, wanting to leave no question of his sincerity. “And of course I meant it. Every word.”

“It’s just, no one has ever really liked me.” Sherlock mumbled.

He looked and sounded so innocent, John thought his chest was going to burst. “Well I do.” And before he could think better of it, John leaned forward and pressed his lips to Sherlock’s.

The kiss was gentle, innocent, lasting only a few seconds, yet it was like John was getting his first kiss all over again. Sherlock’s lips were full and soft as compared to John’s thin and slightly chapped, and they were warm, warmer than the ambient temperature would predict. But all too soon John felt Sherlock pull way.

“John… I…. I” The younger man stuttered, his eyes wide.

“Oh fuck. Oh Christ. Shit. I’m sorry. I overstepped. I’m so sorry. I’ll go. I’m sorry.” Apologies spewed from his mouth, John read the situation completely wrong, and had gone and ruined everything. He was so sure Sherlock felt it too, how could he be so stupid? John wanted to just disappear.

“No, don’t go!” Sherlock grabbed desperately for John’s wrist, pulling him back down. “It’s just, I thought you said no kissing on the mouth.” He smirked, something playful shining behind his eyes.

And just like that, John felt a great relief wash over him, and a fit of giggles bubbled out. “I thought I wasn’t an escort.”

“That, you most decidedly, are not.” Sherlock murmured before tilting his head and closing the distance between them.

 

*******

 

Kissing John was a revelation. Sherlock had dabbled a bit in his younger years, and while it had been pleasant, nothing compared to this. Nothing compared to John. Normally Sherlock’s brain raced, his thoughts were constantly in motion, jumping from one thing to another, processing and inputting everything. But at that moment, Sherlock’s thoughts slowed, his mind clear, there was only John. He could only focus on John’s lips moving against his, the slight scratch of John’s stubble against his chin, and the gentle touch of John’s thumb as he ran it along his cheek. Before, Sherlock saw everything at once, but now ‘everything’ had become John, John, John.

Parting only the catch their breath, or share a grin, the kisses grew bolder following the initial brush of lips against lips. After bumping noses a couple of times, an accidental knocking of teeth, and some nervous laughter, they soon began to move in sync. Their mouths fitting together perfectly, arms wrapping around shoulders and waists, hands cupping cheeks and sliding into hair,  _they_ fit together perfectly.

After one kiss, Sherlock was hooked, and with time, his addiction only grew. Without ever realizing how it happened, Sherlock found himself pulled halfway on top of John. Emboldened by the feel of John holding him tightly to his chest, Sherlock ran his tongue tentatively along John’s lower lip. And then, Sherlock could only feel. He felt John gasp before he really heard it, he felt John’s fingers tighten in his hair, and he felt the moan bubble up inside his chest at the first touch of John’s tongue against his own. Sherlock was addicted, and he couldn’t, he wouldn’t look back.

Sherlock wasn’t even aware of how much time had passed, it felt like days, when John finally pulled away to rest his forehead against his, his hand still curled around the back of Sherlock’s neck, the other arms snaked around Sherlock’s waist. If Sherlock whimpered at the loss of John’s mouth, John certainly didn’t comment.

“That was…” John breathed, tongue darting out to lick his now kiss swollen lips.

“Mmmm.” Sherlock hummed, his eyes still closed. This had to be a dream, a fantastic dream, and the second it he opened his eyes, the dream would be over. He would open his eyes and there would be no John, and he would be alone.

“Amazing.” Sherlock could feel the hand on his neck slide forward to cup his cheek, the arm around his waist loosening, moving up his back to join John’s other hand. “Sherlock? Hey, Sherlock, are you okay?”

Taking a deep breath, Sherlock opened his eyes, and was immediately met with John’s deep blue ones staring back at him, etched with concern.

“Was that too much?” John sounded worried.

“Not at all. That was… astonishing.” Sherlock smiled, trying to convince John that he found it nothing short of miraculous. “I just had to take a moment to process that this is all real. That you actually like me like… that.”

“Well of course I like you like that.” John snorted, leading up to give Sherlock a peck on the lips. “I can’t believe I have to say this all again. You’re brilliant, you solve crime for Christ’s sake, you’re funny, and I thought you were gorgeous the second I laid eyes on you. Not to mention, you just gave me, no question,  _the best_ snog of my life. What’s not to like about that?”

“Really? The best?”

“Yes really! How can someone so utterly perfect, be so insecure?” John sighed

Sherlock could feel himself blushing again. “John, I’m hardly perfect.”

“Well maybe not. But from where I’m sitting, you’re pretty damn close.”

“Now you’re just teasing me.”

“Yep.” John beamed. “But it’s only because I _like_ you.”

“Good. Surprisingly, I find I like you too.”

“Surprisingly? I think I should be offended.” Chuckled John, shaking his head.

“You know what I mean.”

“ _Surprisingly_ , I do.” John grinned, capturing Sherlock in another dizzying kiss, something in which Sherlock was all too happy to indulge.

“You know, John” Sherlock mumbled, breaking the kiss after a minute or two. “If you’re ever interested, we could maybe see each other again. Maybe get together and… I don’t know, do something? Have dinner? You could help me with a case sometime, if you want.” He could feel the color filling his face. Usually he had such mastery over language, but one look from John, and Sherlock was stumbling for words, making a complete fool of himself.

“Are you asking me on a date, Sherlock Holmes?” John grinned at him, his tone once again teasing.

“I’m certainly endeavoring to.” Sherlock blushes.

“Fantastic. I absolutely want to get together and do something. And yes to the case, I’d love to see you in crime solving mode!”

“Really?”

“Oh god, not this again.” John laughed, preemptively stopping the retort on the tip of Sherlock’s tongue, with a kiss.

 

*******

 

“It’s getting kind of late.” John said after almost another hour of talking, and a fair bit of snogging. “We should probably get going.”

“But I’m comfortable here.” Sherlock whined, leaning his head back against John’s shoulder, pulling John’s arms tighter around his midsection, and burrowing his back deeper into John’s chest. “The park doesn’t close, we don’t  _have_ to leave.”

“Who knew you were such a cuddler.” John chucked. He had only known the man for one evening, and he already relished the feel of Sherlock in his arms, and he absolutely loathed the thought of separating. “But we really need to move. My arse is going numb sitting here. Besides, it’s going to take forever to get a cab at this hour.”

“UH, fine.” Sherlock grunted, getting to his feet before helping John up. “His Holiness is bound to hear about my stunt sooner or later, might as well be easy to find in my flat when he does.”

“Knew you’d see reason.”

“Not reason, I’m just humoring you again.” A somewhat cautious, somewhat serious look suddenly crossed Sherlock’s face. “If you want, I can get you the money now, or I could write you a check when I get dropped off at my flat.”

“Money? What money?” John’s stomach plummeted, a thousand panicked thoughts ran through his head. Did Sherlock really think John needed to be paid to spend time with him? Did Sherlock really even interested in him? Oh god, was John just convenient?

As if reading John’s panic, Sherlock was quick to explain. “I promised I’d cover double your pay for the wait job. I did get you fired, it’s my fault you didn’t get paid tonight.”

“Oh that?” John let out a relieved laugh, his heart rate quickly settling down. “I don’t care about that.”

“John, it’s only fair. You said it yourself, you needed that job.”

“Tell you what,” John said, taking Sherlock’s hands in his. “You pick up the tab for the date, and we’ll call it even. Deal?”

“But I was going to anyway. I was the one who asked you, remember?” Sherlock said skeptically.

“Maybe so, but I’m a gentleman, and I would have tried to pay.”

“John, I’m hardly a lady.” Sherlock chuckled, his deep voice resonating through John.

“True, but that doesn’t change the fact that I’m still a gentleman.” John said, raising an eyebrow, challenging Sherlock to deny it.

“If you sure.” Sherlock still sounded unsure.

“I am. Besides, getting to meet you is way better than any tiny paycheck.” John smiled softly, gently placing a kiss against Sherlock’s knuckles.

“Oh dear god, John. Don’t ever say anything that cheesy again, I might get sick.” Sherlock blanched, though John could see the light in his eyes. He heard the laughter running just under the surface. “Come on, I’ll get us a cab.”

“By all means, after you.” John took Sherlock’s hand, and interweaving their fingers, followed him out of the park.

 

Later, once the cab had dropped him off at his small flat, John was hanging up his jacket when he felt something in the pocket. There, folded neatly was the exact amount the job would have paid, and clipped to the cash, was a note.

_Meeting me and a paycheck is even better. – SH_

John hadn’t even notice Sherlock writing the note, or slipping the bills into his jacket. Granted John wasn’t thinking too hard about reverse pick pocketing when Sherlock had cozied up to him in the back of the cab.

 

*******

 

Sherlock was just getting ready to get into the shower when his phone pinged with a text alert.

_Definitely better. But don’t think this is your way of getting out of paying next week. – JW_

With a smile that could only be found on a man well on his way to smitten, Sherlock sent off a quick replay, before stepping into the shower. He knew he was going to be in for a lecture from Mycroft when he found Sherlock had ducked out of the gala early, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. Meeting John was worth all the long winded lectures Mycroft could possibly give.

But really, Sherlock couldn’t imagine his parents, whose opinions he did sometimes value, would be too upset with him. They were the ones who had been bugging him to ‘make friends’ since he was five years old, and John might just be better than any friend Sherlock could have ever hoped to make. No, John was definitely better than any friend Sherlock could ever make. He was John.

 

* * *

 

~ One Year Later ~

 

“Sherlock, Darling, would you stop fiddling with your tie? You’ll get it all loose.” Lydia Holmes said, swatting her younger son’s hand.

“That is rather the point, Mummy. It’s too tight, I feel like I’m suffocating.” Sherlock sighed, with one final tug on the offending garment. “I still don’t why I have to wear it in the first place.”

“Because, Darling,” emphasis on the ‘darling’. “It’s a black tie, and this is a black tie affair. Plus it completes the suit perfectly, and makes you look so handsome. ”

“Yes, Sherly looks positively ravishing.” Mycroft added snidely.

“Stop badgering your brother, son.” Richard Holmes said, giving his eldest son a stern look.

Ignoring his father and brother, Sherlock turned back to his mother. “It would look fine without the tie. I’ve seen a number of others here who forwent it, and they haven’t been escorted from the building.”

“Well none of those men are my son. Clearly  _their_ mother’s didn’t raise them to follow proper etiquette.”

Sherlock just grumbled as his mother patted his cheek before straightening out length of fabric slowly chocking him.

“Don’t blame me, young man. You’re the one who said he wanted to come with us when I asked.” His mother reminded him as he sulked. “I must say, I was rather surprised when you agreed.”

“Well, the event made such an  _impression_ on him last year, I think our Sherlock has become sentimental” Taunted Mycroft.

He knew he shouldn’t take Mycroft’s pathetic bait, but he couldn’t stand hearing his brother’s smug tone. “Piss off, Mycroft. You’re just  _frustrated_ because Athena, or whatever her name is, is in Barcelona.”

“Frustrated!?!” Mycroft hissed. “You think you’re some….”

“Boys!” Their father said warningly. “You are both adults, and I will not have you making a scene. Do I make myself clear?”

“Sorry, Father.” Both brothers mumbled.

“That’s better.” The kind smile back on their father’s face.

Soon things started to settle, Mycroft and his father were discussing something to do with a trade deal with Denmark, his mother chatting away about something. Sherlock was keeping an eye on the entrance, while simultaneously checking the time, when he heard it.

“Richard! Lydia!” Cynthia Michaels called, making her way towards his parents, and by extension, Sherlock himself.

“Cynthia, lovely to see you again.” His mother said cheerfully, greeting Cynthia with a kiss on the cheek.

“And you!” Cynthia beamed. “It’s been far too long. I was hoping you’d be here. It completely slipped my mind to ask Richard if you two were attending.”

“With what’s going on with the Chancellor of the Exchequer, I’m surprised you remembered to come at all.” Sherlock’s father joked, coming to stand beside his wife.

“Oh, it’s always something with George. Nothing can prevent me from being here, it’s one of my favorite nights of the year!”

For one brief shining moment, Sherlock thought he would go unnoticed while his parents conversed, and he could slip away to continue his watch over the doors.

“And you brought your charming sons!” No such luck.

“Mrs. Michaels, you’re looking lovely this evening.” Mycroft’s voice positively dripped with flattery as he kissed her hand, the smarmy git.

“Oh you’re too kind, dear.” Cynthia blushed. “And Sherlock, back again this year?”

“It would appear so.” Answered Sherlock, looking over Cynthia’s shoulder. Cynthia chuckled softly, and continued her conversation with his parents and Mycroft.

After several minutes, Sherlock, who by now, checking his watch every minute, heard Cynthia let out a small giggle. “Abigail will be kicking herself when she finds out Sherlock was here, and she missed him again.”

Somehow Sherlock seriously doubted that. He was just about to say something to that affect, when he spotted the blond who had just entered the room. Beaming, Sherlock lifted a hand to get his attention.

“Hey everyone, sorry I’m late.” Even after a year, Sherlock’s heart still gave a small flutter when John smiled at him.

“I was going to say.” Sherlock smirked, straightening John’s tie and greeting him with a kiss.

“I did tell you I’d be here after my shift, though.” John said, before accepting a hug from Mrs. Holmes, and a handshake from Mr. Holmes. Mycroft merely nodded.

“Cynthia, this is Sherlock’s boyfriend, John.” Mrs. Holmes pipped up, when it became clear Sherlock was not going take his eyes off John, let alone make any introductions.

“I believe we met last year.” Cynthia smiled, shaking John’s hand. “Though, then he introduced you as a friend.”

“Things change in a year’s time.” Sherlock said, making a point of taking hold of John’s hand, lacing their fingers together.

“They certainly do. I guess this explains why you never seemed interested in my Abigail.” She chuckled.

Sherlock was about to open his mouth to explain to Mrs. Michaels all the reasons why he was not interested in her daughter, and her daughter was not interested in him, when he felt John squeeze his hand in warning.

“Yes, sorry about that.” Sherlock said through a fake smile.

"Oh don’t be, it was a pipe dream anyway. And you clearly seem happy.” She sighed, smiling down at Sherlock and John’s joined hands.

“We most definitely are. Now if you’ll excuse us, I think we’ll go walk around.”

“It was nice meeting you again.” John said as Sherlock started pulling him away from the small group. “Mr. Holmes, Mrs. Holmes, Mycroft, I guess we’ll find you later.”

“I wouldn’t count on it.” Sherlock whispered in John’s ear once they were a sufficient distance away, relishing the shiver he still managed to trigger in John.

“Mmmm. Is that so?” John hummed.

“Oh definitely.” Mumbled Sherlock, wrapping his arms around John’s waist as he pulled John’s back against his chest. “Why would I want to be anywhere near my parents and  _Mycroft_ , when I’ve got you here? In a suit that actually fits you, I might add.” He teased.

“You don’t look half bad yourself.”John said, patting Sherlock’s hand. “But we can’t avoid your family all evening, it’d be rude. Plus, I’m actually allowed to be here this time, I don’t have to constantly look over my shoulder. I’m eating all the hors d’oeuvres I can get!”

“Well I guess we’ll probably see them at some point during the reception. You know my mum, she’ll find us for a life update, regardless of the fact we just over there last weekend.” Sherlock huffed. He’d never admit it, but he actually rather liked that his mother cared enough about John to take an interest in their lives, plural. And not that he needed his parent’s approval, nothing was going to get between John and him, Sherlock was glad they accepted John with open arms.

“And I’m sure we’ll be sitting with them at dinner.” John added.

“Oh, we’re not staying for dinner.” Sherlock laughed, brushing his lips against John’s cheek.

“We’re not?” John asked, pulling away from, and out of Sherlock’s arms to turn and face him. “Why not?”

“Well, it is kind of our anniversary, and I thought we should do something special.” Sherlock didn’t know why he was nervous, but John was always giving him butterflies at random, it was a fact of his life. “I figured we can slip out after cocktails, before dinner, and head to our park for some cheap fish and chips.”

“Who knew you were such a romantic, Sherlock Holmes?” John laughed, before capturing Sherlock’s mouth in a fervent, though tragically short, kiss. “But you do know that we met a year ago tomorrow, right?”

“I do know how the calendar works, John. Oh shut up.” He huffed when John raised a questioning eyebrow. “I just meant that we met at this event  _about_ a year ago. And,” he added, dropping his voice and leaning in close “after the park, I was thinking we could head back to the flat and start a  _celebration_ that will carry over until tomorrow. Perhaps last the entire day too, into tomorrow evening, our  _real_ anniversary, maybe?”

“I’ll take that as a yes?” Sherlock chuckled as he caught John around the waist, John’s knees appearing to have given out.

“Oh you’re a bad man, Sherlock Holmes. Where did that shy guy I met a year ago, go? The one who couldn’t believe someone could like him.”

“A med student-turned-waiter-turned-escort, corrupted him.”

“Well thank god for him.” John grinned, pulling Sherlock down for yet another far too brief kiss. Sherlock really needed to have a word with him about those.  “Now, before fish and chips and celebrating, I want to mingle with all you posh things.”

“If we must.” Sherlock sighed, trying not to let on just how charmed he was by John.

“Excellent. Now, she’s new.” John said, pointing to a tall, ginger woman across the room. “What deep dark secrets, or second life, is she hiding from the world?”

“God, I love you, John.” Sherlock breathed. And he did, he absolutely, and completely loved John. John didn’t deal with him or put up with him, John accepted him, liked him, believed in him, and encouraged him. Sherlock was so in love with John.

His boyfriend could only beam up at him as Sherlock leaned down for another kiss.

“I love too.” John smiled, his deep blue eyes soft, and Sherlock knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, he was telling the truth. “Now, Ginger’s life story. Hop to it!” He added with a laugh.

“Scottish, aspiring writer, just back from recent travels, scared about her upcoming nuptials. Not to worry though, just the typical jitters. She’s about to marry her childhood best friend, and they’re destined for a long, happy marriage.”  Sherlock rattled off, not taking his eyes off John.

They spent the rest of the evening much like they did the night they first met, laughing, talking, and deducing the guests, only this time they didn’t have to worry about what would happen when the evening ended. No, because they knew when the evening ended, they were ending it together.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you liked my attempt at Johnlock fluff, and these two being little nervous cuties falling in love!
> 
> If you'll notice, I did slip in a shameless Doctor Who reference. And the DI Lestrade Sherlock helps is supposed to be Greg's mother.
> 
> Let me know what you think, good or bad! (Any typos or errors too, most of this was written at night when I was very tired)


End file.
